


praised (from a new perspective)

by coricomile



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: M/M, Under-Desk Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-20 19:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14268459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coricomile/pseuds/coricomile
Summary: Steve shouldn't encourage Tony's bad habits.





	praised (from a new perspective)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AngeNoir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngeNoir/gifts).



Steve shouldn't encourage Tony's bad habits. He knows he shouldn't, but sometimes he looks at Tony working and feels a rush of endearment and- well. Tony is the most handsome man Steve's ever met, and he knows what Tony looks like naked, knows all the joints and creases and stretches of skin that makes him up. Steve's body was made from science and luck, but Tony's is all from throwing around hundreds of pounds of metal on a daily basis, everything built up strong through hard, long hours of effort. Tony puts his entire self into his work, sweat and blood and tears and all, and sometimes it's hard to look away from him when he's in the middle of it. 

Steve leans against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest as he watches Tony carefully piece something together. It could be the next big thing to make Stark Industries another billion dollars, or it could be a trinket that will go into the junk drawer as soon as Tony's finished with it. It doesn't matter in the end; Tony's focus is still the same. He's so single-minded at all times, his brain so fast that sometimes it's impossible to keep up with him. Most of the time it's infuriating, but there are times when it's sweet.

The music in the lab is loud- it's always loud- but Steve's taken a liking to the thrum of bass and heavy drums that Tony prefers. It suits him, as wild and uncontainable as he is. Steve uses it to hide the sound of his bare feet against the cold metal floor as he carefully picks his way through the discarded tools and materials strewn haphazardly around. He smiles to himself when he gets close enough to hear Tony singing along. He has a terrible, warbling, and off-key voice, but Steve loves to listen to it anyway. Tony has never learned to care for public opinion, has always been loudly and proudly himself, and Steve envies that sometimes, when the weight of the world's opinion has sunk down onto his shoulders. 

Up close, he can see the sweat bleeding through the dark cotton of Tony's shirt, the curl of his damp hair against the nape of his neck. There's a plate on the work table next to him, but it could be from hours or days ago. There's a highball glass, too, but it's empty. Steve bites his tongue. He might be the Captain outside, but from the moment Tony had kissed him, had rocketed their relationship from coworkers and maybe friends to this, whatever it's called these days, it had been made clear that Tony was his own man and Steve could only give suggestions. 

It's hard, sometimes, but Steve has always known how to work with what little he has. 

Tony stands up and bends over the desk to reach for something and his sweatpants stretch over his ass, hugging the curve of it. Steve looks his fill. It's strange, sometimes, that he can be openly affectionate with Tony. Strange that he doesn't have to hide his desire, strange that Tony will kiss him in front of people that don't even know them without a care in the world. Steve looked when he was younger, couldn't stop himself if he tried, but for as many flaws as the future has, it's also come a long way. 

"What are you making?" Steve asks, raising his voice. Tony jumps and Steve bites off the laugh that wants to bubble up. He learned quickly to not to touch Tony without warning. He can take the punch easily, but he'd rather not. 

"Christ," Tony says, just barely loud enough to be heard over the music, his free hand flying up to his chest. "JARVIS, sound at 20%." The volume instantly drops and Tony turns around, still holding his wrench. He shakes it in Steve's direction and Steve can't fight back the laughter then. He looks like someone's angry grandmother. "Don't sneak up on a man with heart problems."

"If you keep playing your music that loud, you're going to have hearing problems, too," Steve says, because sometimes he can't help himself. Tony raises his eyebrows and Steve smiles sheepishly. "What are you working on?" 

"A new tactical belt for Clint," Tony says. He knocks the head of the wrench against something metal on the desk. "If he breaks this, I'm sending him to space on a one way trip." Tony wipes his wrist over his cheek absently, smudging a bit of grease over his skin. It's not attractive at all, except for the way it makes Steve's pulse pick up. "You need something, or did you just want to see my pretty face?"

"Stay there," Steve says as he sinks slowly down to his knees, feeling brave and maybe a little brazen. "Can you work like this?" He looks up to meet Tony's dark eyes. He always feels powerful like this, like somehow he's got complete control of Tony's incredible mind and incredible focus. It's a heady rush that makes him greedy and brash. 

He's never been comfortable being so openly… sexual. Tony makes it easy, though. Tony looks at him sometimes like he sees straight through him, past the body that has never quite been his own and right into his soul. Maybe it's a cliche, maybe it's old fashioned, but Steve loves that about him. His body might be the shiny object that lured Tony in first, but he doesn't have any doubts that he's more than just that now. 

"I need the table," Tony says. His fingers tighten around the handle of the wrench, knuckles flashing white. 

"Okay," Steve says. 

He crawls around the stool and Tony's legs to tuck himself under the work surface. He curls his fingers into the waist of Tony's sweatpants and pulls them down until they're around Tony's ankles, exposing his soft cock. It's a tight squeeze under the desk, even tighter when Tony slumps down onto the stool and scoots in, but he doesn't feel claustrophobic. He feels- safe, maybe. Sheltered.

"Kinky," Tony says, his voice sounding far away. Steve pinches his thigh and laughs when Tony's leg jerks. 

"Go back to work," Steve says. He smooths his hands over the exposed tops of Tony's thighs, the dark hair tickling against his pams. Trapped under here, the sharp, musky scent of Tony's growing arousal, the salt of his sweat, is almost overwhelming. Steve closes his eyes, presses his nose to the soft fold of Tony's stomach and breathes him in. 

"This is cruel and unusual punishment, Steven," Tony says. Steve smiles and reaches down to brush his fingers over the tip of Tony's cock. It twitches, plumping up under his touch. 

"If you ever went to your room, we could do this in your bed." Steve runs his thumbnail over the scar right under the head and Tony's thighs tense around him. "Go back to work." He waits until he hears the sound of metal against metal to dip his head down and press his lips to the crown of Tony's cock.

Steve doesn't think he'll ever get rid of the first rush of shame he feels every time he does this. It had been bred and literally beaten into him that this is a filthy act, a sinful act, that somehow it's _morally wrong_. Tony swears when Steve opens his mouth to let him in, and the shame fades away as fast as it came. Steve has never called himself a good man, as much as others try to paint him as one, and if this is sin, it's not like he hasn't already done enough to earn himself a spot in Hell.

Steve can't move much like this and Tony can move even less- suspended just high enough on the stool that his feet can't touch the floor, his legs spread wide to fit Steve's shoulders between them. He's trusting Steve to hold him up, to keep him from falling. Steve doesn't know if that or the hot, salty taste of Tony on his tongue turns him on more. He takes more of Tony in, tests the limits of what he can handle all at once. 

He hasn't been able to replicate Tony's trick of swallowing Steve's cock down all in one go, but no one has ever called Steve Rogers a quitter. 

The mystery sounds of tinkering above him slow and then stop, and Steve stops with them, pulling off to take a deep breath. He's overheated and a little lightheaded, and he can't tell if it's from the space or- Tony, he thinks as he reaches down to palm his own cock, hard and impatient where it's trapped against his thigh. It's always Tony. Tony, who groans and hits the table hard enough that it shakes. 

"Come on," Tony whines. Steve brushes his knuckles over the heavy weight of Tony's balls and leans in to follow with his closed lips. Here, there's no way to hide exactly how much of a _man_ he is- the smell, the taste, the _feel_ of his dick twitching against Steve's cheek. Steve revels in it, lets himself enjoy every forbidden second. " _Steve_."

"Go back to work," Steve says. Tony's body trembles as he lets out a sigh, but the sound of something scraping across the table top comes, followed by the clink of metal on something soft. 

This whole thing feels… different, somehow. Tony isn't ignoring him, Steve can feel his attention all the way down to his bones, but Steve thinks he likes being secondary to the focus of Tony's work, an accessory instead of the main feature. It's something to explore later, when he's alone and not so caught up on need. Now, he licks up the shaft of Tony's cock and sucks at the head, chases the bitterness that seeps out. He slides his hands under Tony's thighs and pulls them up over his shoulders, trapping both of them further. 

If he had to, he could hold Tony up for days. Maybe for weeks. He gets fatigued, he gets tired, but he knows how to fight through the strain of his body from long, long years of practice and his limitations are hard to reach these days. He doesn't think Tony has it in him to last for that long, but Steve wouldn't mind trying. The only thing he likes more than this is Tony anchoring him down, Tony feeding borderline filth into his ears as he takes Steve apart inch by selfish inch. 

Something crashes over Steve's head and jolts the table. Steve curls his fingers around the base of Tony's cock and sucks, feels his teeth sink into the soft insides of his lips and pushes through the discomfort. He'll heal. Tony kicks him and the solid swing of something onto the table makes both of them jerk, but Steve keeps sucking, keeps pushing his head down and down until he can feel the tip of Tony's cock testing the limits of his gag reflex and then pushes himself farther. 

"Steve-" Tony chokes on his name and Steve pulls back. He rests his hot cheek against Tony's thigh and takes deep breaths to calm himself. He's uncomfortable, his dick hard and aching, his back and neck straining with the effort to stay small enough to fit under the table. "Fuck, you're the worst."

"How much longer until the belt is done?" Steve asks. His lips tingle as they skirt over the soft inside of Tony's thigh, just the right side of too sensitive. 

"It still has at least a day on it," Tony says. He sounds breathless, he sounds _ruined_. "You can't hold out until then. _I_ can't hold out until then." Tony shifts his hips up, his beautiful, strong _incredible_ abdominal muscles flexing as he rubs his cock across Steve's jaw. "Fuck. _Steve_. Come on."

Steve sucks at the tender join between sac and shaft, curls his tongue over that space and can't hold back his needy whine. He wants to stay here in stasis until Tony's finished, wants to be a part of his process, wants Tony to think of him every time he sits here for hours on end working on something new. He may have the patience of a saint, but Tony doesn't, and Steve is only really so strong in the end. 

Steve takes Tony in again, sucks at just the sensitive head of his dick and presses his tongue to the circumcision scar. Tony's thighs squeeze around his ears, tight enough to block out every sound but his own heartbeat. The rush of bitter come on Steve's tongue is still a surprise, but he swallows what he can and spits the rest onto the floor for the bots to clean when they do their nightly sweep of the lab. 

"Fucking Christ," Tony says, his whole body going limp. Steve holds him as best as he can with one arm and reaches into his sleep pants with his free hand. He hisses at his own touch, fighting with himself to keep his hips still. 

It doesn't take much. To be fair, it almost never takes much when Tony is involved, but Steve jerks himself off under the cover of his pants and comes inside them, another dirty secret for JARVIS to dispose of in the morning. He slumps into Tony's body, sucking in deep breaths of recycled, humid air. He feels light headed and high in the best of ways. 

"You kinky motherfucker," Tony eventually says as he carefully maneuvers his legs off Steve's shoulders. He scoots the stool back and pulls Steve out from under the table. Steve feels weak, his whole body shut down from his orgasm. He could hit a punching bag all day and never feel this wrung out. 

"We should go to sleep," he says as Tony hauls him up to his feet. Tony grins and lifts up onto his toes to kiss him, sweet and sure. 

"If this is how you're going to get me to finish my work, I'm never going to leave the lab," Tony says against Steve's mouth. 

"You didn't finish your work," Steve replies. He's a little disappointed. Tony scratches his blunt nails up Steve's side and Steve shivers. 

"There's always next time," Tony says. Steve buries his face in Tony's shoulder and laughs. 

There's always going to be a next time, and Steve Rogers is no quitter.


End file.
